Sparks
by Artemis Day
Summary: Natasha kisses him, and he really doesn't know what to think about it. Problem is, he can't stop thinking about it.
**A/N: I've never written a Romanogers fic, mostly because I don't actually ship it. It's a BroTP for me, but my friend and brainstorming buddy, Vampi, does like this ship, and since she's been such a big help to me over the past few months, I wanted to write something for her. She actually already asked for a fic for her birthday, but at the time, I was only about halfway through this, so I wrote that and then continued with this one anyway.**

 **So I hope you all enjoy my first and, most likely, only foray into Steve/Natasha!**

* * *

Natasha kisses him.

And it's… not a move he had expected, though in retrospect, it's exactly the kind of thing a spy would do.

He thinks.

It doesn't matter, because it works and Rumlow doesn't spot them. They are free to fight on another day.

What really gets him is how casual she is about it. She just takes him by the neck, gives him his first kiss in seventy years, and then walks away like it was no more than a handshake.

He doesn't know what to make of it.

The last time he was kissed, he was in a speeding car about to go defeat a megalomaniac. It had been quick, yet passionate; a now or never kiss. Steve hadn't known that at the time. One of his final thoughts before hitting the ice was that he wished he had kissed Peggy sooner.

"Was that your first kiss since 1945?" Natasha asks later in the car.

Of course she would come to that conclusion. Not that she's wrong.

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say it was bad."

"It sounds like that's what you're saying."

They argue back and forth on their way to discover the truth behind Fury's death and save the world again. At a time like this, improving the state of Steve's love life is clearly their most important objective.

"It was not my first kiss since the forties," he declares. "I'm 95, not dead."

She has a knowing smile, and Steve is tempted to boot her out the door and drive off without her. He doesn't because he needs her, and because that would be a horrible way to treat a lady, and because after all they've been through, he's come to trust her, and like her.

"So there's nobody special?" She asks after two blissful seconds of silence.

He has this awful feeling that she's not going to let it go, so he makes something up and changes the subject. It works well enough. She talks wistfully about her past, her voice soft and her words weighted. He would almost think she has that 'shared life experience' he mentioned.

He flashes back to the escalator. To her fingers on his skin and her mouth warm on his, and then he can't stop staring at her lips.

* * *

He doesn't have more time to think about it, because then, there's HYDRA.

* * *

Steve gets himself cleaned up, trying not to get too much sweat and grime on Sam's bathroom floor. At least one towel is unsalvageable, and after that, he stays away from the lighter colored ones until he's done and just has to wash his hands. Natasha, fresh out of the shower, sits on a bed in the guest room, drying her hair. He's never seen her so quiet before, or so glum. Not that he blames hers.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Uh-huh," she says.

She might have been convincing to someone else, but not him. He sits on the bed with her, looking at her eyes this time. Some tiny, wispy voice in the back of his head notes that she has very pretty eyes.

"What's going on?"

He's no therapist, but he did talk to one a few times after his defrosting to appease Fury. That man didn't have much to say. He mostly just listened to Steve. It had helped a little bit, so that's what he does now. She talks about trying to change her ways, to redeem herself, all seemingly for nothing. He knows about the 'red in her ledger' as she calls it. He's never commented on it, because it's never mattered to him. In their own ways, they all have red in their ledgers. Steve has killed a lot of people for the greater good, and he can't say that he ever enjoyed it.

He doesn't tell her this. He makes a joke instead. Not the best way to go, but he almost gets a smile.

He likes her smile.

"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save you, would you trust me to do it?"

She asks him that with the most serious expression he's ever seen on her.

"I would now," he says.

She smiles for real. Then she makes a joke. They're both really bad at humor; their timing is abysmal.

Sam comes in to offer them breakfast. Steve follows him at once. His stomach has been growling since before they reached the base. Enhanced bodies require a lot of calories to function.

Natasha isn't long after him. They eat in silence, Steve glancing out the cracks between the shades every few minutes and trying not to stare every time Natasha brings a glass of milk to her lips.

He unconsciously licks his own.

* * *

But again, he has no time to think about it, because then, there's Bucky.

* * *

When it's over- from an objective standpoint only because it'll never really be over- Steve meets her one more time before Nick Fury's grave. It's a nice headstone. Whoever picked it out chose well. Nick sure seems to like it before he leaves to continue his work from underground. In a way, Steve will miss him.

It's when Natasha announces her departure that he really feels let down. He'd been hoping they could spend some time together not on the run from rogue government agents. Nothing big, just a few drinks at the local bar. They could invite Sam along and tell some more bad jokes. If Sam happened to go home early, that would have been fine.

"I blew all my covers," she explains. Her hair sways as she moves. He really likes her hair. "I have to go figure out a new one."

"That could take a while."

She gives him that smile, with those lips...

"I'm counting on it," she says, and then it's right back to business.

Natasha hands him a file on the Winter Soldier. The picture of Bucky on ice is going to haunt his nightmares, but he can ever have a good dream, even just one, he hopes that Natasha is in it. He hopes that she smiles like this, and she hopes that she kisses him on the cheek like this.

Maybe he hopes for a kiss somewhere else, too, or would that be too forward of his dream self?

* * *

Time passes. More battles are fought and won. Him and Sam scour the globe to find Bucky. He spends more time awake than asleep and somehow doesn't dream at all when he does sleep. The little free time he has is spent in his apartment, staring out the window at the remains of the triskelion in the distance. It's all business as usual for Captain America

Natasha appears unannounced at his door seven months after Ultron. Back then, they'd been busy trying to stop a killer robot from destroying the earth and didn't have time for heart to hearts. The contrast between then and now is so sharp that it could bring Steve to his knees. There is no monster to fight or person to save. Fire isn't raining down from the heavens, it's just a little cloudy. Natasha is in casual jeans and a t-shirt, and her hands stuffed into her pockets.

She looks so normal that Steve almost doesn't recognize her.

"Hi," she says cheerfully. "Can I come in?"

The door is open a crack, just enough for Steve to poke his head out. It's not enough for her to see inside, or so he hopes. He glances behind him at the empty living room and the tightly locked door to the guest room. It's quiet in there. It might be safe if she's only here for a few minutes.

"I was hoping to spend the night," she says, sitting down on the couch. "I don't mean to intrude, I'm just passing through the area."

"Got somewhere you need to be?"

She shrugs. "I spent some time with Clint and Laura. I think they wanted me to stay longer, but I had to get on my way."

"So where are you headed?"

She doesn't answer. Her brow furrows like the concept of a destination hadn't occurred to her until now.

"I'll find somewhere," she says. "Until the next big adventure, and then I'll find somewhere again."

"Sounds like you need a permanent base of operations."

That makes her smile, which in turn makes him smile. It makes him forget that she really shouldn't be here right now.

"I hope that's not an offer, Captain," she says. She pulls at a fraying end of his couch throw. "Nice as this place is, I think the colors are a little too dark for my tastes."

"What colors would you use?"

"Something cooler. A shade of blue would be nice."

He wishes they could stay like this, just sitting here together. Just talking. It would be nice if they could really talk about what happened at the army base and where she went for all those months; what she thought about this new registration program Tony was talking about and what was really going through her head on the escalator…

Steve bites down on his lip. It doesn't halt the tingling he feels, but it slows it down.

"You can use my bed tonight," he says, standing up. "Come on, you must be tired."

"What about the guest room?"

"It's… unusable right now." He starts to lead her to his room. "I like the couch anyway. More comfortable."

"Are you hiding something from me?"

Damn, she's good.

He considers his options. Both he and Sam agree that they would have to tell her eventually. Given her history, Steve thought it best to break the news gently. Somewhere away from his apartment so that she had time to prepare herself before he brought her here. That's off the table now. The only other thing he can do is come clean, or else come up with a very convincing lie to fool the world's greatest spy in the next three seconds.

The door creaks open. Feet shuffle across the carpet to the kitchen, where Steve sees a flash of silver in his peripheral vision. He stares at the open window. All those options just flew out of there and he takes a moment to grieve before he faces Natasha.

She hasn't screamed, not that Steve thought she would. She isn't reaching for her gun either, and he appreciates that. She is staring, her eyes wide and her face blanched a shade whiter. Her mouth opens like a split in a seam, but she has no words So far, this was going better than expected.

Bucky rummages through the fridge, pulling out random items until half of Steve's refrigerator is on the counter.

"No milk…" Bucky mumbles. He closes the fridge, ignoring the mess he's made. "Steve, we're out of milk."

He sees Natasha. Experience dictates that a stranger might activate Bucky's 'fight or flight' instinct. Steve has had to drag him inside before thanks to a well meaning neighbor who blindsided him in the hallway. Steve inches forward just in case, but as the seconds tick by, he relaxes his stance.

Bucky stares at her. He doesn't seem adverse to her presence, no more than he is with anyone else other than Steve. He appraises her. He might be able to smell the hints of fear on her. Then his head tilts to one side.

"Do I know you?"

Natasha shoots Steve a look. Steve is helpless before her and throws up his hands.

"Maybe we should sit back down."

* * *

"How did you find him?" Natasha never takes her eyes off Bucky, even as she fires questions off by the dozen. Somehow, she's saved the most obvious ones for last. " _When_ did you find him?"

"It was a few months back," Steve says. He watched Bucky tie another garbage bag and leave it by the door for later. "Took a lot of work. Every time I thought we had him, he'd slip away again."

"Well, he was always one step ahead before," Natasha says. "Why should that change now?"

Steve doesn't like to think about what Bucky was before. He prefers to remember him before before, when they were still kids playing stickball in the park, and the war and this hell they had lived was but a distant dream of the future. He tries not to dwell on those memories, happy as they are.

"I was going to tell you," he says. "Somewhere else. I thought you should have some time to prepare yourself. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said. "I'm a big girl, and I've dealt with way scarier things than him."

He thinks she's not entirely truthful. Steve has seen her fight aliens and Norse Gods and advanced artificial intelligence like it's just another day on the job. She closed an inter-dimensional portal over New York once and didn't bat an eyelash, but that day on the bridge, when the enemy they faced was just one man with a gun, she had run, and she had panicked. She had fought back in spite of it, but always with that layer of urgency like she was one step away from bolting. He sees her go rigid now every time Bucky walks by.

"How's he doing?" She asks. Bucky's finished cleaning the kitchen and has gone back to his room to strip the bed.

"He's making progress." Steve hesitates to go on, but then Natasha nods him along. "He remembers a little more every day. It comes to him in flashes. We'll be sitting down to eat, and suddenly he'll start telling the story of the time his dog ran away or something that happened in school when we were ten. He knows who he is and who I am. He remembers his family and the war. He uh… he has nightmares. He's woken up screaming so many times that I had to have the walls soundproofed."

"And I see you've put him to work.".

Bucky has a full cloth sack over his shoulder that he leaves on the other side of the door. He grabs another from the closet and goes to Steve's room.

"Buck, you don't have to do that," Steve says. He is ignored. "He likes to keep busy. I think it's so his mind doesn't wander. Last week, he waxed the floors and alphabetized my books. Twice."

Natasha laughs softly. He likes her laugh.

"From the battlefield to the kitchen," she says. "Seems fitting."

"No, he doesn't cook," Steve says. "He tried once, and it's not an experience I hope to repeat. I don't think my stomach could take it."

Steve glances into his bedroom. Bucky has a new set of sheets tucked into the mattress, and he drops them to let out a yawn and stick up his middle finger at him.

"Then three times a week, we go to the local gym. I have a training room on standby so that we can be alone."

"That works out?"

"We don't bring weapons if that's what you mean," Steve says. He checks again and Bucky is back to making the bed. He's either stopped listening or just doesn't care. "It's good. Keeps us both in form, and it's nice to train with someone who can match me."

"Guess that explains the bruised knuckles."

Steve rubs the black and blue splotches. They're only a few days old and not nearly as bad as they look. It's getting easier for him to dodge Bucky's blows, but he still finds himself punching metal in the heat of battle. Bucky laughed the whole way home the first time it happened, and Steve couldn't even be mad, because Bucky was laughing and _smiling_. He took the week long ribbing that followed and didn't lift a finger to stop it.

"You think that looks bad, you should see the one on his ass."

Bucky drops the second laundry bag next to the first. There's a damp cloth hanging out of his pocket, and Steve hopes he's only planning on spiffing up his bedroom mirror or something else that would grant them privacy. Bucky stops in front of the mantle. He picks up one of Steve's sparkly clean knick knacks and rubs out spots that aren't there. Steve sits back and is greeted with by a large grin.

"On your ass?"

Steve fidgets. That one doesn't hurt either, but she's making him think it does.

"He kicked me," he mutters.

Natasha turns and snorts into her hand. He gives her credit for trying to spare his feelings.

"I kicked him back." Steve is suddenly a little too proud of that fact.

She sets down her cup. Her fingers lace together on her lap. Her legs are crossed. She looks a little like that therapist, only female and much prettier.

"So uh…" she looks down. "If you need me for anything- anything at all- don't be afraid to ask."

Her eyes flick to Bucky.

"I wouldn't be," he says, "but you don't have to do that."

"Rogers, I'm not… I'm not like you. I'm not a good person like you are, but if I've learned anything, it's that you never abandon a friend." Her hand moves. He thinks she's going to reach for him, but then she takes her coffee. "You've done more for me than you know. It would be wrong not to try and repay you."

"I'm not looking to be repaid," he said. "And you should give yourself more credit than that. I would have died a hundred times out there without you."

She looks sheepish. That's new. New and adorable.

"Maybe not exactly a hundred."

"Believe me, it's up there," he says, "but we never would have won that fight without you. If anything, I'm the one who should repay you."

"If that's what you want," she says, "then you can start by calling me when you need help. I already put my number on your speed dial."

She holds up his cell phone. He barely uses it and it's never at full power, but it's in her hand and it looks like she changed the wallpaper. Autumn breeze instead of the default ocean view. He likes this one better. He wants to ask how in the hell she got ahold of it and when she had time to input her information, but he doesn't. That is such a non-issue when she is looking at him like that, and her eyes are clear and her smile is bright, and her lips are so inviting, and she's just all around so beautiful that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Natasha," he says. He takes a deep breath. "I need to ask you something… about that day in the mall-"

Something crashes and shatters. A ceramic statuette of a bird that Steve found at a flea market is in pieces on the floor at Bucky's feet. His hands are cupped around air, but they slowly fall to his sides.

"Oh my god," he croaks, looking at Natasha. "I shot you."

* * *

After ten minutes of Bucky literally at her feet begging for forgiveness, Natasha decides she's ready for bed. Steve pulls an old quilt out of the closet and makes up the couch for himself while she fills a glass of water and shuts up in his room. Bucky has calmed down from the shock of yet another random memory attack, though he has yet to get off the couch or even get out of the fetal position. For someone as big and physically intimidating as he is, it's kind of hilarious. Dugan would have just poured beer over his head and called him a pussy while the rest of the Commandos laughed. God, Steve misses those guys so much.

He uses a throw pillow to rest his head on. It's too hard for an average person, but that just makes it more perfect for him. He's just about to drift off. He's in the perfect conditions to sleep: comfortable in a dark and quiet room with the temperature just right.

"So you two have a thing?"

He jerks up.

Bucky is staring at him, his blue eyes shining in the moonlight that is the only thing keeping them from pure darkness.

"Er- what?"

Bucky comes out of his ball and stretches. There's a crack as his works a kink out of his neck.

"You and her," he says. "Seemed like you were having a moment there."

Steve pauses to think. There is a right way to answer this question, but there is also a truthful way.

"We were just talking," he says. "Natasha is a good friend of mine. She wanted to let me know that she's here to help us if we need it."

"Do we?"

Does _he_ need it, he means. Seventy years of torture and brainwashing can't change the fact that Steve knows Bucky better than he knows himself.

"I think we're doing okay," he says, and Bucky relaxes a bit.

"You still didn't answer my question," he says.

"I just did," Steve says.

"Don't play dumb, you punk. You haven't told me if she's your girl."

"What makes you think she is?"

Steve immediately regrets asking that. It was in many ways the worst response he could have given. Now he's never going to hear the end of it.

"You must be dumber than I thought if you honestly think I didn't notice the way you were looking at her." Bucky gets up and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with full glass of water. "I only ever saw you look at one dame like that."

"Yeah..." Steve fingers the bulge in his pocket. He still carries that pocketwatch everywhere he goes.

"So if she's not your girl, why don't you hurry up and make a move?"

Steve pauses. He's about to open the biggest can of worms, but he made a promise to always be open with Bucky. No lies, no deceptions. Not after what he's been through. To go back on that now, even about something like this, is unthinkable.

"Technically, she made the first move," he says, and then he tells Bucky everything.

He starts with the hospital after his escape from the triskelion, works his way up to the kiss on the escalator. Some parts get glossed over. He skips everything after Sam's house and before the graveyard. No need to relive all of that.

Bucky is an excellent listener. He doesn't react much beyond subtle changes in expression. He rolls his eyes at the conversation in the 'borrowed' car and shakes his head at the kiss on the cheek in the graveyard.

"That was when you should have gotten her," he says.. "That was your moment and you let it fly by."

"I had other things on my mind at the time," Steve says crossly. He then sinks back into the cushions, which are even more annoyingly soft than his bed. "I don't even know if what I'm feeling is real or if it means anything. For all I know, I'm just… I don't know, projecting what I felt for Peggy onto Natasha."

"They are kind of alike," Bucky says. "Both terrifyingly competent fighters who are beautiful to boot. I'd be frustrated, too."

It was nice to receive sympathy and understanding for his predicament from his best friend in the world, but that's not going to help him deal with it any more easily. He's starting to think nothing will.

"It's all about sparks in the end."

Steve blinks. "What?"

Bucky gives him a look. "Sparks. You gotta have them or it's meaningless. No good romance ever starts without sparks."

"Sparks," Steve repeats. He rolls it around on his tongue. "You mean attraction, right?"

"No, no, you can be attracted to someone, and then find out later that you don't have sparks." Bucky runs his flesh hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Sparks are… that electric feeling you get when you look at her, or touch her. It's when you kiss her, and you think that you'd be happy even if you couldn't kiss anyone but her for the rest of your life. It's… chemistry, I guess is the word. Least that's what my mother always said."

That was the longest string of words Bucky had unleashed in months. Steve would love this topic of conversation for that reason alone, without his toes curling and his body getting warmer as if he was still with Natasha on the escalator. As if she was still holding him with her shockingly strong arms and kissing him with her hot, pink lips, and everything that's happened since is just a vivid dream he has yet to wake up from.

"So you think me and Natasha have sparks."

"Let me put it to you this way," says Bucky. He takes a drink of water, downing half the glass and then slamming it on the coaster. "Would you be thinking about it all this time if you didn't?"

* * *

Steve doesn't sleep well that night. He'd like to think it's because he's found a good book to read or he's watching the people on the streets. In the darker recesses of his mind, it would be because Natasha came out wearing nothing but a sultry smile and one of his shirts and she's beckoning him to come join her in bed.

In reality, it's because he's woken up an hour later by a grunt of pain, followed by the sound of glass breaking. The other side of the couch is empty when Steve looks. There are scuff marks on the floor- all of Bucky's hard work has been ruined- and all that remains of the window are bits of broken glass stuck in the corners. Steve whips up off the couch and sticks his head out. The air is freezing, but he hardly notices. There's a single set of dusty footprints on the fire escape and a set of dents on the railing that are shaped like fingers. Many stories down and up the street, a shadow slips out of sight.

Steve rushes for the bedroom door. It's open before he can knock. Natasha is not wearing anything of his and has her jacket half on over a tank top.

She glances past him at the broken window. He doesn't have to tell her what happened.

"Has he done this before?" she asks in the car. They speed down twenty blocks without finding a trace of him. It's only been five minutes since he woke them up, but Bucky is as fast as Steve and maybe faster. He could be anywhere.

"I told you he has nightmares," Steve says, running a hand over his face. "Sometimes, he has trouble waking up from them. He's almost run off once or twice, but I was always able to stop him. This time…"

She gives him a meaningful look. The kind that says she knows he is blaming himself and it isn't his fault. It would be nice if he could believe that.

"Anywhere you can think of that he might go?" she asks. They pull a sharp turn around two late night lovers making out under the lamp light. "Someplace familiar to him?"

Steve thinks about it. "Other than the gym, there's a sports bar we go to a couple times a week. It's down 4th street on your left."

The sports bar is closed this time of night, locked tight behind bars that don't cover the windows. Steve lets out a breath when he sees they are all intact. There are no signs of life to be found, except for the spot behind the dumpsters in the alley. Four or five men are laid out in a heap, their faces and shirts bloodied. Steve spares them a quick glance as he hops out of the car. They're all still breathing, so Natasha can deal with them.

He finds Bucky behind the dumpster, sweaty and out of breath, flesh arm pressed against a gash running across his right side to his belly button. The entire bottom half of his shirt has been ripped open, exposing the wound to the air.

"Shit," Steve mutters.

 _'Language,'_ he thinks sardonically.

He throws his coat over Bucky and leads him back to the car. His friend is shivering, if not from the cold than from the tears he is determined not to shed. He mumbles a broken apology for the window as he's loaded into the back seat, and then he falls silent. Steve presses his coat into the wound. It's already soaked in blood, but it'll have to do. He coaxes Bucky to apply pressure himself and gets in the passenger seat. Before they drive off, he takes one more look at Bucky's unfortunate opponents.

"Ambulance is on the way," Natasha says. Is he that much of an open book or can she just read him obscenely well? "Police, too. I have a feeling they started the fight."

Good enough for him.

"We need to get him help," he says. He moves the rear view mirror to watch Bucky more closely.

"Hospital's out," says Natasha. "He'd be way too conspicuous."

"Doesn't SHIELD have some bases around here?"

"They used to, but SHIELD doesn't really exist anymore thanks to us."

"Well, we'd better think of something fast."

Steve squints his eyes. They drive under a streetlight; the split second of light confirms that the bleeding hasn't slowed down.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to stitch a wound, would you?"

"I know the theory," she says. After a moment's pause, she presses a button on her dash, and it lights up. "I need the closest SHIELD affiliate with medical training within our current proximity."

The car whirrs like a computer.

"Good morning, Agent Romanov," the car says in a cool, smooth voice that isn't unlike Tony's A.I.s. "Calculating locations now."

Steve stares at her.

"Gift from Fury," she says.

A screen pops out of the dash, displaying a fast moving loading bar. A list of ten names pops up, organized from closest to farthest.

The results are… not promising.

"2.8 miles away," Natasha reads the details off. "Next closest after her is… 30 miles."

Bucky groans in the back seat. He's removed the bloodied coat to observe the damage, and there's sweat on his brow. Steve knows that with Bucky's enhancements, there's no way he is going to die from this, but even that can't stop the fear twisting in his gut that his best friend is hurt, and he can't do anything for him.

Here he thought he'd never feel helpless again after getting the serum.

"We have no choice," he says.

Natasha taps the screen to get directions. They drive off of main street to a place nobody would be walking around this time of night. That's when she forgets about the speed limit and floors it.

* * *

To her credit, Jane Foster takes it well when two Avengers and an injured former assassin show up on her doorstep at three in the morning. From the looks of it, she was awake already. There's a bowl of cereal on the kitchen table that's not yet soggy and a bunch of papers covered in equations spread out everywhere. The TV is turned on to infomercials. Jane clicks off a demonstration of the effectiveness of the Super Mega Blender 3000 and clears off her living room couch for them to lay Bucky down. He lost consciousness sometime during the car ride. He doesn't react to being jostled beyond a twitch of his lip here and there. As long as he keeps doing that, and his chest keeps rising and falling, Steve isn't going to panic.

Natasha removes the jacket stuck to Bucky's wound. She treads carefully, meeting resistance once or twice and using expert precision in unsticking the fabric. She throws it into a garbage bin and Steve doesn't mourn the loss.

"Wow, that looks bad," Jane says. She bites her lip. "I want to help, but you guys know I'm not that kind of doctor, right?"

"Dr. Foster, our records indicate that you minored in nursing during your undergraduate program, you were the top in all your classes, and you interned at NYU hospital two summers in a row," says Natasha.

Jane looks like she wants to ask how they have all that information, and then start ranting about secret government agencies digging around in her life (Steve's seen her file and he wouldn't blame her), but she holds her tongue and speaks civilly. Steve thinks he can stand back and watch over Bucky while Natasha takes it from here.

"That's true," Jane says, "but I wasn't doing any medical work. I mostly just did filing and restocked supplies. I mean, I got to observe a few surgeries, but-"

"We don't need you to do surgery," Natasha says. "This man is wounded, and he's already lost a lot of blood. You may not be a certified nurse, but I'm sure you've done at least this much."

"What, stitched up a wound?" Jane looks back at Bucky, then at Natasha. "I guess I've done that before, but only once."

"Successfully?"

"I'd say so."

"Then that's the best we've got right now. As you can see, the emergency room is out of the question."

Steve has ripped the remains of Bucky's shirt off, leaving him bare chested with nothing to hide his mechanical arm. Jane stares at it, something like wonder shining in her eyes. At Steve's cough, she shakes herself out of it and pulls her hair back into a ponytail.

"Um… okay." She looks at Steve. "In the kitchen, there's a drawer next to the sink on the left side. Get me a lighter and the sewing kit."

Steve, being a good soldier, obeys. He finds the sewing kit easily, but has to dig around for the lighter. He's not one to judge, but he would think a prominent scientist like her would use computers for everything and not have so much notebook paper.

"I'll also need some warm water in a basin, and if you guys want something to take the edge off, my intern left a bottle of vodka in the pantry. Help yourselves."

Natasha enters the kitchen around him. She goes straight for the pantry and Steve can't help a smile. He watches Jane sterilize the needle and thread a thick string through the hole. He's impressed that she got it on the first try. It used to take his mother at least five before she gave up.

"So you were definitely successful the first time you did this," Steve says as she ties the thread off. "The patient was okay?"

"Yeah, I was fine," she says, distracted. "Here we go."

She pokes the needle into Bucky's skin. His eyes fly open, and Jane jumps, almost losing the needle. It stays in place and she steadies her hand. Bucky's eyes bore into her.

"It's okay," she tells him. "Your friends brought you here so I can help you. You're going to be fine now."

Bucky stares at her silently, blinking several times as she pulls the frayed edges of skin together.

"Oh, I get it," he says. "I'm dead."

Jane smiles. "No, you're still among the living for now."

"Nope. Definitely dead. Dead and in heaven. Otherwise, there wouldn't be an angel here."

Jane doesn't catch his meaning right away. She's so busy making sure she doesn't prick him in the wrong place or lose the needle in his intestines. It comes to her when she's halfway done, and her cheeks are bright red from then on, as she seals the wound and cuts the thread. She motions to Natasha, who hands her a rag soaked in water.

"I'm going to clean off the blood," she tells Bucky. "Let me know if I get a spot that hurts or that you just don't want me to touch."

"Doll, you can touch me wherever you want."

Now she's even redder, and Steve thinks he should call Bucky off before the poor woman melts. He can't bear to, though, because this right here, this casual flirtatiousness and confidence, _this_ is the James Buchanan Barnes he remembers.

Bucky falls back asleep once Jane is done. One can only imagine how exhausted he must be after such an eventful night. The good news is that he probably won't have another nightmare for a while, at least not tonight. Jane pulls a few blankets out of the linen closet and drapes them over him, checking the stitches on more time first to make sure nothing will snag.

They sit down at the kitchen table. Jane has removed her uneaten bowl of cereal and cleared off the papers with a hurried apology for the mess.

"I hope you understand that you can't tell anyone we were here," Natasha says. There's nothing threatening in her tone, but they all know how easily there could be. "Barnes is still technically a wanted man, so even the people closest to you have to be kept in the dark."

Jane glances over her shoulder. Bucky's face lacks worry lines as he sleeps peacefully.

"Hard to believe this is the man I've been hearing about on the news."

"He isn't dangerous, Doctor, not to you," Natasha says.

"He doesn't seem dangerous at all," Jane says. Steve knew he was going to like this one.

"That may be, but for right now, it's imperative that he remains incognito," Natasha says. "We can be out of here before your intern comes back, but I ask that you keep this a secret, for everyone's benefit. Not even Thor can know."

Jane stiffens. Her hand on the table curls into a loose fist, like an ingrained response to the sound of that name. It doesn't escape Steve's notice and he doubts Natasha missed it either. Her meets his eye for just a moment. She has questions, but she won't ask them. She must think he's been quiet long enough.

"We don't mean to intrude on your private life," he says, hoping to God that he isn't about to cross any boundaries. "I won't ask you how often Thor visits, but the next time he does-"

"You don't have to worry about that," Jane says curtly. "Thor and I… we've decided to take a break. I haven't seen him in months and I don't think I'll see him again any time soon."

She's so blunt about it, and Steve is genuinely taken aback. Her words speak little of sadness or regret, or even anger. Just a vague sense of bitterness; a resigned acceptance of an inevitable reality. How strange this is compared Thor's cheery competition with Tony over drinks not so long ago. The way he spoke of Jane then, Steve would think Thor would already be here, hiding away in a closet so that nobody figures out they were fooling around.

But a lot of things can change over the course of a few months. Nobody alive knows that better than him.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says. Natasha is mum on the subject.

"Don't be," Jane says. "It's the best thing. He's busy with rebuilding Asgard and helping you guys and I'm busy creating my bridge. Hard to make time for relationships with all that going on."

"That's such a crock."

Bucky is sitting up, the blanket falling to the floor. One hand covers the stitches, keeping them from ripping. He hasn't tried to stand yet, so nobody moves. His eyes are on Jane like she's the only one there.

"What?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"That," Bucky says with a wave. "What you just said. That's ridiculous. How could he not make time for you? What kind of man just drops his girl by the wayside like that?"

Jane's mouth falls open. She looks at Natasha, then at Steve, but they're just as much at a loss.

"I…" she's on the verge of turning red again. "I said it was my fault, too. It wasn't like Thor up and abandoned me."

"Yeah, but Steve said he can use that bridge or whatever it's called to travel between worlds. You're telling me that he couldn't stop by once just to see how you were doing? Even if he had to leave right after, just to let you know he's still thinking about you?"

Jane tries to form words, but speech has failed her. Steve was right that she would turn red, but he thinks this time it's from brain overload, or maybe she's just really angry. Either way, Bucky's not done.

"Because if you were my girl, I'd never be such a lazy, inconsiderate ass. Even if I couldn't be with you all the time, I'd find some way to reach you. I'd call or I'd write. I'd send you flowers and when I got back, I'd make up for all the time I couldn't be with you. I'd sure as hell never make you feel lonely or neglected like this guy obviously did."

Bucky rants for awhile, all about everything he would do if Jane Foster was on his arm. Most of it sounds so sappy and cliche that Steve himself wants to gag. Natasha has her hand over her face, because she thinks no one will see her laughing. Jane's expression has not changed, but there's something new and bright there as Bucky goes on, almost like she's seeing him in a whole new light. Steve thinks she's read more than a few romance novels in her life.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky and neither of them have gotten any sleep. Natasha drives ten miles under the speed limit and gets them back around lunch time. Bucky fell asleep again back at Jane's place and stayed asleep this time. He hasn't woken up since, and were it not for his super fast healing and the stitches taking so well, Steve never would have risked moving him.

He carries Bucky to bed. The son of a bitch is a lot heavier than he looks, and that metal arm doesn't help. It will not stop sliding off of him. Natasha stays close to replace it on Bucky's chest, and by working together, they get Bucky into bed and leave him to sleep it off.

Despite being awake for almost twenty straight hours, they go not to bed, but to the kitchen. Steve turns on the coffee maker. There's an unopened packet inside ready to be used. Bucky really does think of everything. It's just too bad he's not here right now. Coffee is just about the only thing Bucky can do right in the kitchen. He makes it even better than Steve does.

Steve sets a mug in front of Natasha. She stares out the window, open a crack to let in the noise of traffic. She has dark circles under her eyes, but her prettiness doesn't suffer for it. He is still drawn right back to her lips.

"Thank you," he says. "I don't know if I would have found him without you."

"You would have," she says. "Either that or he would have come back on his own. It wasn't that deep of a cut."

Tell that to her bloodstained car seats.

"So I think I'll take a nap in a bit. You mind keeping me for another few hours?"

He'll keep her as long as she needs it. He'd keep her forever if he could. It sounds disgustingly cavemanlike and goes against everything his mother taught him about respecting a lady, but it's the truth. He's beyond denial at this point.

"Stay as long as you have to," he says. "I'll need to go out and get some of the supplies Dr. Foster mentioned."

"You should sleep first, too."

Natasha leaves her coffee behind and leaps over the couch, laying down rather than continuing to his bedroom.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm going to sleep."

"On the couch?"

"It's your apartment. You should sleep on your own bed." She sees Steve's look of uncertainty. "Your mattress is too soft anyway. If I were you, I'd buy new one ASAP. One with support."

He can't argue with her there. Really, he'd sleep on the couch every night if it wasn't for Bucky putting in the effort to make his room look like a hotel suite. The jerk even 'borrowed' his credit card to buy him all new silk sheets that he was constantly slipping on.

The sheets are rumpled from last night. Steve pauses as he recognizes the slight indenture of her body on the right side of the bed. That's the side he sleeps on. She slept on his pillow last night and it probably smells like her…

 _'Okay, Rogers, back it up before you sound like a creepy old man.'_

He lets out a tiny laugh that is not tiny enough to go unheard.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

She's propped up on her side. Her hair is down and askew. Her eyes pierce through his soul. Her lips… godammit those lips… the way she makes that little pout when she's talking to him, almost like she knows all the wicked thoughts running through his head.

He just can't take it anymore.

"Natasha," he says, heart pounding in his chest. "I've been meaning to ask you about that day in the mall, you know, when you…"

Her lips pucker, just for a second. Perhaps it's just a reflex, but it drives off whatever inhibitions he has left.

"What about it?"

Steve's grip on the door tightens. The wood starts to splinter.

"Did you feel anything?"

She sucks in a breath. Her hand that holds the blanket slackens, and it slides down to her legs. Her chin falls. It's odd to think about it now, but she is a very small woman. She barely reaches his chin at full height. That has never been something to think about because what she lacks in size, she makes up for in strength, skill, intelligence, beauty… everything really.

This is the first time he's ever seen Natasha Romanov look like she has no idea what to do.

"Why are you asking?"

Trepidation is beginning to seep into him, killing his courage. He would like to just apologize and say he was out of line for bringing it up. He'd like to go to his room and shut the door and lay in his bed and stay there until she's ready to leave. He can't, though. He's taken the plunge. He's dug his grave, as they say. No turning back.

"I just wanted to know if it meant anything to you." He lets go of the door. Bucky's going to kill him for putting holes in it. "Even just a little."

She keeps staring at him. He hasn't felt this uncomfortable since those godawful USO shows. He keeps his feet firm on the ground, no thoughts in his head of running. Not yet.

"I…" she swallows. Her lips come together and separate more than once. Every time kills him a little more. He almost thinks she won't answer at all, and then- "No."

Steve's stomach plummets.

"No?"

She rolls around to face the couch cushions.

"It was just a distraction, Rogers, you know that. Get some sleep."

She pulls the blanket up to her chin. Her hair is tucked inside. She's invisible and Steve knows he's not going to get more out of her. He moves backwards into his room, shaking fingers fumbling with the doorknob. He gives up and pushes it closed. The door swings and locks, but first, Steve hears her again.

"I could never…"

* * *

She's gone by nightfall.

* * *

Two weeks go by. Bucky takes the stitches out on his own three days later, to find nothing but a line of puffy pink skin across his abdomen. By day five, that's gone, too. You gotta love that super soldier healing.

They pick up their usual routine. Bucky does whatever chores he can think of, they go to the gym, they buy groceries once a week, eat out every now and again. Very safe and normal, just what both of them need right now. Bucky doesn't mention Natasha, not since she left without saying goodbye. He seems to know that Steve isn't ready to talk about it. For now, he goes back to making fun of him for missing and punching the wall during their last training session.

Bucky has his own love life to deal with anyway. A new addition to their routine has come in the form of frequent visits from a certain beautiful astrophysicist. Her unannounced arrivals happen randomly, and it's becoming more and more common for her to just spend the night if she stays too long.

"Just need to check that wound," Jane says a whole week after Bucky's recovered. "Have to make sure that James- er, that Bucky isn't straining himself."

She skips off to where Bucky sits on the couch. He's trying to concentrate on a book, but throws it aside as soon as he sees her coming. Grinning like a child on Christmas, Bucky wraps an arm around her as she curls up to his side, and Steve turns away from their hushed conversation. He's not going to be the one to ruin the moment. No sir.

"They sure make a pretty picture."

Steve whirls around. If she wasn't right there against the door frame, he would have thought he just imagined it. It's already happened enough times in his dreams.

"Long time no see," he says. It comes out a little harsher than he intended, and she lowers her gaze.

"I came by to check on you guys, but it looks like the good doctor is making a house call."

Bucky and Jane have moved off to the balcony. Jane sits on Bucky's lap as she points to the sky where stars twinkle brightly in formations only she understands. Bucky is hanging off her every word. She could be reading the phone book to him one number at a time, and Steve doesn't doubt his friend would still look at her like she is the answer to everything.

So it comes as no surprise when their faces come an inch apart from each other. That distance is closed as Bucky claims her lips. Their kiss ends quickly, but the flush in their cheeks and the shine in their eyes is unmistakable.

 _Sparks…_

Soon they are kissing again, much more passionately. Jane's hands run through Bucky's hair and bunch up his shirt, and that's when Steve decides they should have some privacy. He ushers Natasha into the hall and shuts the door.

"Well," Natasha says. "I guess Barnes _will_ be straining himself tonight."

Steve shoots her a look. She smiles innocently. He gives up and slumps over.

"They make it look so easy," he mutters.

Natasha's face falls.

"I guess it is for some people," she says. She starts to back up. "I'd better get going."

She walks to the elevators. His door is on the other side of the hall, so he has ample time to watch her form shrink away little by little. Another few seconds, and she'll be gone. Who knows when the next time he sees her will be.

"Natasha-"

"No, Steve." She spins around, and there's moisture in her eyes. "I know what you're going to say, so don't, all right? Don't say it."

"Natasha, wait-"

"It can't happen, you understand? It's impossible. Whatever you think you felt, you have to just forget about it. It would be no good for either of us, so drop it."

She stamps her foot. It's kind of adorable and he smiles before he can stop himself. He thinks it's only because he speaks first that he's saved from a trip to the hospital.

"So you were lying to me. You did feel it."

She makes an exasperated sound and turns away. For a split second, he fears that she'll run and he'll have to chase her, but she just goes around in a circle. She faces him again; her skin is so pale it makes her hair shine brighter.

"Steve, you saw the information I dumped onto the web," she says. "You know about the things that I've done."

"I read it," he says. Some of it nearly killed him, but he doesn't say that. "What does that have to do with this?"

"What doesn't it have to do with this?" she counters. "I told you, you're a good person. You're someone people aspire to be like, and I'm someone people learn to protect themselves against. There are so many better options for you out there, and you know what? I think you never even asked out Sharon, did you? That's a bad call, Rogers. She's a great agent, and a _real_ good person. You'd better make a move, or someone else will."

She starts to leave again. This time, he doesn't follow.

"I just wanted to let you know that I took your advice. Got myself a new permanent base, at least for a couple of months until the lease runs out."

"You're living here?"

"Well… yeah," she says. "A couple of blocks from here, that is."

Steve nods. "Maybe I can show you around sometime."

"We'll see."

She rounds the corner and stops at the elevators Inside his apartment, it's quiet, save for the rustling of clothes and Bucky and Jane's mingling laughter. That too fades with the opening and closing of Bucky's bedroom door. Without it, all that breaks the silence is the click-clack of her heels and the dinging of the elevator as it creeps up to his floor.

Steve makes no conscious decision to do what he does next. It's one of those things that just happens, without logic or reason. He doesn't remember how he got from in front of his door to in front of her.

"Natasha," he says.

And then he kisses her.

She tries for all of a second to push him away, but he holds strong. He always said he would never use his strength against a friend, but this one time he breaks that rule. He backs her into the wall, tasting her lips like they are food for a starving man. They part for him, but Steve hesitates to delve further. That is beyond his experience, and the last thing he wants is to ruin the moment by embarrassing himself.

So he pulls away.

That's the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

He takes in her gobsmacked expression; the blush running from her face to the top of her chest. There's a hint of sweat on her brow, and her nails dig into his shirt to pierce his skin.

She's the most beautiful women he's ever seen.

"I know a good person when I see one," he says, fingers trailing down her cheek. "And I'm not calling Sharon."

The way she looks at him now, she might scream or punch him or break down crying. Any one of those three would not have surprised him, but neither does her eventual reaction of staggering into the elevator and slamming the door close button until they did. The last thing he sees is her swollen lips.

And he still doesn't know when he'll see her next. She could run back to her new place to pack up her stuff and leave the country, but he knows somehow that she won't. He knows that this isn't the end, and he knows that they'll meet again sooner than they think.

He can never say how, but he knows that she is in that elevator right now doing exactly that he's doing. She's catching her breath, and she's listening to her heart race, and she's touching her lips and feeling them tingle.

Maybe she's even smiling like him.

 _You gotta have sparks._


End file.
